


It's a band aid solution but at least they get laid

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [12]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Ed's a literal hot mess, Happy freaking Monday, I don't know how to summarize this, M/M, Riddles, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Oswald, despite any minor character flaws and misgivings, can accept that a natural part of the healing process involves a small stint of celibacy.~Oswald is having a difficult time during Ed's recovery, and Ed isn't telling Oswald why he's becoming more distant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between the last two chapters of Plant Food.

Oswald, despite any minor character flaws and misgivings, can accept that a natural part of the healing process involves a small stint of celibacy.

While his leg is still healing Oswald himself feels no urge to fool around, let alone expending the time and energy required to get his body to cooperate long enough to have sex. Ed’s leg is still in his cast, and Oswald is not in the mood to pop his stitches a third (fourth) time. So no, he doesn't miss sex during the month where it is understandably absent, because neither of their bodies are really capable at the time.

Also, it’s not as if they’re used to having sex on a daily basis. He can accept that between his leg and their gradually advancing ages that sex is no longer a nightly affair. They’ve dedicated few nights a week to sex, maybe only a couple if they’re busy or his leg has been acting up, leaving the rest of their time to either entertain themselves with their hobbies or enjoy a few hours of quiet companionship. He’s gotten rather fond of spending a quiet evening with a bottle of wine by his side and Ed’s head in his lap, the latter flipping through a book or two while Oswald pets his hair.

He also accepts the grim reality of the following month wherein Ed is still in his cast and Oswald is fully healed. Ed is forbidden from wearing his usual clothes due to the size of the cast, and as a result spends the entire time in either loose fitting drawstring pants, shorts he made Zsasz buy immediately following his rescue, or just his underwear, all terribly revealing (or in the case of the pants, loose and prone to showing off his hips) and Oswald spends many a night holed up in the bathroom, trying to discretely masturbate in their shower without causing any alarm. He knocks himself out in the shower _one time_ and suddenly Ed feels the urge to check in on him after only ten minutes under the stream. But he can deal with the check ins and quiet, frantic sessions in the shower because he knows that the day Ed can get his cast removed is fast approaching, and once it’s gone they can resume their usual routine.

On the day Ed’s cast is removed Oswald gets them a table at one of the nicest restaurants in town. He insists on having a private dining table in one of the back rooms, orders a nice bottle of red to go with their food, and spends the entire meal rejoicing Ed’s recovery and fantasizing about having sex on the table. Bent over of course, with the remains from their dinner scattered across the floor.

“Here’s to you, my dear, and your admirable recovery.” He holds out his glass (second glass, but who’s really counting) and toasts Ed, who nods once before lifting his glass (his first, which he’s barely touched) and setting it down without taking a sip. “I don’t understand why you aren’t near as happy as I am about this. You’re _out of your cast_.” Oswald is nearly vibrating with jubilation.

“I still have a considerable amount of physical therapy to undergo. My muscles weakened while confined in their plaster prison.”

“Ed,” Oswald coos, reaching out a hand and grabbing onto Ed’s, running his thumb over Ed’s knuckles, “this is a good day. You’ve endured this hardship admirably, and this is your reward. Do try to enjoy the freedom you’ve gained back now that the cast is gone.”

Ed blinks at Oswald, then he looks away, meek, as if he’s hiding something. After a tired sigh, he tells Oswald, “I have a limp.”

“A _limp_ ,” Oswald repeats. “I don’t understand.”

“It seems,” Ed clears his throat, a flush of red coloring high on his cheekbones, “following my ill advised walk, there was some nerve damage caused by the two ends of the break.” He makes two jabbing motions with his fingers, tossing Oswald’s hand off in the process, which he quickly remedies by grabbing it with both of his hands. “There is also some damage to my lateral collateral ligament. I’m afraid it’s permanent.”

“Permanent.” Oswald closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t the doctor inform me of this?”

Oswald considers “forgetting” to have Zsasz do his evening check in long enough to give the good doctor a piece of Oswald’s mind on behalf of Ed’s well-being. Ed, either somehow gaining the ability to read Oswald’s mind or just having plenty of experience with his reactionary thinking, soothes a hand over Oswald’s palm and brings his fingers up to his lips.

“It’s my fault. I requested he let me tell you myself. I’m terribly sorry Oswald. My recovery will not be as thorough as we both hoped.”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Oswald smiles, tight and unamused, but he won’t place any blame on Ed’s shoulders, as he’s done enough of that himself. “You are the one that is healing. I’ll find you the best physical therapists money can buy. Together, we’ll see that you get through this with your head held high.”

Ed smiles at him, bright and hopeful with a touch of fondness, and Oswald feels his imagination start to stray back to his thoughts of himself getting up close and personal with the fine grain on this wood table, which he quickly quashes. He’s going to have to handle this on his own when they get home, and he will _not_ walk out of this restaurant erection visible yet confined to his pants.

They have a very nice meal with a dessert and a second bottle of wine, and Oswald leaves the restaurant feeling a bit drunk, but confident his earlier arousal has faded for the time being. Ed calls Zsasz (aka their current catch-all employee until Bruce sees fit to return to Gotham) and spends the entire drive gently stroking his fingers through Oswald’s hair. Oswald being punch drunk and wine drunk gets aroused almost immediately, and he has to hide the tenting in his trousers under the flaps of his peacoat.

He has a very bland, unsatisfying orgasm in the shower, the table fantasy practically in ruins now that the setting is tainted with Ed’s despondent expression following his little reveal. Oswald really should consider purchasing some sort of marital aid if this is going to be a regular occurrence. He can’t reliably use both his hands without lingering fears about falling and someone having to help him while he has one hand on his genitals and the other in his _ass_ of all places, so he has to leave one hand firmly holding onto the vertical railing, leaving him with only one free hand to provide any sort of stimulation.

Following his shower Oswald finds Ed reading in bed. He pats the free side of the bed invitingly when he notices he’s no longer alone, and Oswald complies, easing himself under the blankets and placing a pillow between his legs. Ed plays with his damp hair, shaking some of the excess water free and twisting the strands between his fingers.

“What are you reading?”

“The rich don’t need it, the poor have it, and if you eat it you will die.”

“Ed I’m not drunk enough to believe you’re wasting time reading a book about _nothing_.”

“Well, I suppose _technically_ this book is about something, but I’ve found it to be a better sleep aid than an actual source of information or entertainment.” Oswald watches Ed as he closes his book without bothering to save his place and folds his glasses up before setting them on the bedside table. He moves onto his side and cups a hand on Oswald’s cheek. “Though I suppose I could have had another glass of wine and gotten the same effect.”

He kisses Oswald, and for a brief moment Oswald feels a swell of affection. Of course, he’s just being foolish. Dinner was for important matters, but now, in the comfort of their bedroom, surely Ed’s feeling up to it. Oswald only wishes he’d realized this before his shower.

The kiss ends far too soon, and Oswald grunts in annoyance. Ed chuckles and kisses him once more, again far too short, and Oswald pulls Ed back in for another.

And Ed doesn’t push him away, but he also doesn’t encourage Oswald to continue, and after a few more kisses Ed holds Oswald in place and kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, Oswald.”

It isn’t _exactly_ what he wanted, but if Oswald is honest with himself he is starting to feel drowsy. He’ll concede for tonight, but tomorrow (his leg permitting) he’s determined to have his way.

-

 

The first thing Oswald notes the next morning is a slight dryness in his mouth. The second, and much more pleasant thing he notes (once his awareness is past his mild wine hangover) is the fact that he’s lying with his head on Ed’s shoulder. When he opens his eyes and looks up, blinking away the bleary feeling and to get his eyes to focus, he sees Ed’s glasses are already in place and none of the sleep-tinged weariness remains.

“Even though I have two wings I’m a bird that cannot fly-”

“Penguin, I’m assuming,” he interrupts.

“Or an emu, dodo, cassowary-”

“You’ve already been up for awhile haven’t you.”

“Yes, but I assumed I should let you sleep.”

Oswald would kiss him right now if he didn’t have cotton mouth. He shifts a bit closer, just a tad more snug against Ed’s side. He slides his leg over and between Ed’s, sighing contently when it doesn’t protest such a simple movement this morning. He brushes his foot against the flannel covering Ed’s right leg.

It’s a kind of intimacy Oswald’s fond of in the early morning, or at least the first few minutes after he’s awake. Edges are softer, Ed’s hair is still mussed from sleep, and there are no responsibilities demanding his attention while he’s warm and comfortable under the covers. As an added bonus, the warmth usually keeps his leg from tensing up too terribly, and he’s able to be a more active participant should the mod shift sex-ward, as it is wont to do while they’re both cozying up to one another, wearing loose fitting flannel instead of their usual finery.

“Now that you’re awake, I believe we should start the day,” Ed says, which isn’t sexy, and he kisses Oswald’s temple briefly before sitting up, carefully dislodging Oswald from his comfortable position and leaving him blinking up at the ceiling confusedly while Ed moves to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to take my shower now if you’re not opposed.”

Oh, he would be, but a shower together sounds delightful. Warm, steady streams of water cascading over Ed while Oswald admires him openly, hands sliding up his thighs, long, thin fingers massaging away some of the ache; Oswald can already feel the warm burn of arousal starting low in his stomach. He’ll stand of course, so he can hold onto the handrail, his chest pressed to the tile and Ed’s chest against his back, breathing against his his ear and a hand roaming across his chest, down his stomach, _lower_.

Yes, he is decidedly unopposed to taking a shower with Ed. “A shower does sound lovely.”

Ed smiles, confused, which alright, that’s not exactly the response Oswald expected, but Ed must have assumed Oswald wanted to keep dozing in bed. It wouldn’t be the first time. He watches Ed push himself up out of bed, hand gripping at one of the posts until he reaches his cane, and then he walks to their master bathroom. Oswald stares at his ass until Ed shuts the door behind him and presumably turns on the shower based on the noise.

Well. That’s far from ideal.

Oswald sits up and eases himself out of bed. He retrieves his own cane from its usual place near the bedside table and moves at a brisk pace across the room and opens the bathroom door, letting out the warm air and steam.

As he heard, Ed is already undressed and under the water, hands lathering shampoo into his hair. He’s very particular (anal) about his cleaning routine, and under _no_ circumstances is bathing a precursor to sex. It’s “impractical” or whatever he said the last time; Oswald was too frustrated to really listen.

Ed wasn’t attempting to lure Oswald into the shower is the part that matters, and in fact looks rather surprised to see Oswald outside the glass shower door.

“Did you need anything? I shouldn’t be long,” he says without bothering to open the shower door, shouting over the sound of the water and the barrier between them.

“No, just making sure Olga brought in fresh towels,” he lies, and smiles. He feels like an idiot. “We wouldn’t want you getting stranded in here.”

“I believe she restocked the supply last night.” Ed points to the shelf by the linen closet and hamper, indicating the large supply of fluffy towels, freshly laundered by Olga. “But thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” It’s a _disaster._ What the hell is he supposed to do about being aroused _now_?

-

Oswald would _like_ to say time heals all wounds and after the first couple of days following Ed’s cast removal he’s returned to his cheerful, confident self, but Oswald isn’t really in the mood to lie to himself anymore.

It’s been another three weeks.

Three.

Weeks.

It’s been Hell.

Oswald had no idea his body had become accustomed to a sex-inclusive schedule until suddenly he’s _not_ achieving orgasm a few times a week. If he’d understood the benefits he might’ve gotten off his ass sooner rather than let this become a _thing_ , but how was he supposed to know sex made him feel good _longer_ than the immediate afterglow?

And Ed is Not Good. Oswald doesn’t think he’s doing _badly_ , per se, but he’s also not doing _fine_ despite his insistence otherwise.

Just last night he’d woken up because Ed was thrashing and whimpering, sweat-slicked brow creased with fear. It took Oswald a few minutes of frantically shaking Ed’s shoulder and pleading with Ed’s unconscious form to, “please just wake up it’s only a _dream_ ,” until Ed’s eyes flew open, wide and scared and so very lost. He'd huddled against Oswald’s chest, hands clutching at the back of Oswald’s shirt as he gulped lungfuls of air between soft sobs and hitching breaths. Oswald did what he could; he'd run his hands through Ed’s hair and let him cling until both of their hearts stopped hammering quite so fast. Sleep evaded him for most of the night, even after Ed began snoring softly, Oswald’s thoughts never at peace enough to grant him sleep.

And this morning, after Oswald finished his second cup of coffee, eyes stinging and dark from the lack of sleep, Ed had denied remembering the nightmare, but Oswald could hear the pleading edge to his voice, asking Oswald to let it go without saying so or why.

Currently he’s “taking a nap”, which really means he’s lying in bed so he can avoid Ed for a few hours. He intended to brainstorm while he was there, hoping to come up with a few theories as to _why_ Ed’s becoming a wet noodle of a man, but the lack of sleep catches up to him quickly and he dozes for a few hours, waking up feeling refreshed but no closer to a solution.

He leaves the bedroom to find Ed so he can observe him a little. Hopefully he’ll do something noteworthy that will help clarify this shift in his behavior. If not, Oswald’s prepared to ask some difficult questions in the interest of not letting Ed lose himself to whatever this little breakdown is becoming. He’s well aware that Ed has a bad habit of burying things he doesn’t want to discuss, sometimes literally.

“You look better,” Ed tells him once Oswald finds him reading in his library.

“I slept,” he says, joining Ed on the couch and lying so his head is on Ed’s good leg, “soundly, I should add. It was very restful.”

Ed looks down at Oswald, holding his book out and up, and smiles at him, amused and a bit pleased. “Comfortable?” Oswald nods. “Did you want the paper?”

“No, thank you.” This is a prime Ed watching angle. He needs to remain diligent.

Watching Ed read isn’t terribly exciting.

However, if Oswald is going to figure him out he needs to do some of the boring leg work (ha). How Ed finds excitement in this is baffling all on its own; he can’t imagine actually thinking of this as _fun_. Oswald draws the line at the paper, which is informative and short. If he wants something fun to do, he’ll just go have a nice long soak in the tub.

Although Ed looks very good like this; nose in a book and that serious, intense look on his face. It’s very attractive, and rather distracting.

Ed isn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, and in fact seems to be mostly his old self, so Oswald decides his research can wait another day. He reaches up to Ed’s side, running a few fingers over the soft knit of his cardigan. He’s been wearing them more frequently, but certainly not while sacrificing his good looks. Thanks to Oswald’s insistence they're all perfectly tailored to Ed’s frame, complimenting his lean torso and arms. He wears them as well as he wears his three piece suits.

Oswald can’t wait to get it off him.

Ed is intensely focused on his book, so much so that he doesn’t really react at first as Oswald snakes a couple fingers under the first layer of Ed’s clothes. When Oswald untucks his shirt on one side he grunts in annoyance, but Ed doesn’t protest if beyond that, nor does he make any more to undo what Oswald’s done. His mouth twitches slightly as Oswald runs his hand up Ed’s chest, settling on his ribs, then pulling his arm free of Ed’s shirt so he can hike it up a couple inches and expose a thin strip of skin.

“Os,” Ed murmurs. He closes his eyes, and hums when Oswald kisses his stomach. “Oswald,” Ed sighs. He puts a hand on Oswald’s chest, fingers slipping into the space between two of his buttons. Oswald pushes himself up onto his elbows and drags Ed down to kiss him. Ed cradles his his head with his right hand, his left making its way into Oswald’s shirt and rubbing his chest.

Oswald puts a hand on Ed’s right thigh, and Ed freezes, pulls free and sits back, face flushed and warm with obvious arousal, confirmed by the way his pupils are dilated and the barest hint of tenting in his dress pants.

“I’m sorry,” Ed stutters, “Oswald, I-” he looks away, and abruptly gets up off the couch, leaning on the arm until he retrieves his cane. “I’m sorry.”

Oswald, dumbstruck and confused, watches him rush out of the room. He looks to the space where Ed was just sitting; Oswald is still propped up on his elbows with an Ed sized space under him. And once again, he finds himself aroused for _nothing_.

“What the fuck?” he asks the room. Predictably, he gets no answer.

-

Oswald prides himself for being one of the very few people Ed is willing to trust. But he hasn’t gotten Ed to sit down for longer than ten minutes since he ran off a few days ago. The last three nights Oswald has gone to bed alone, and if Ed ever shows up during the night to sleep he certainly doesn’t linger. They’ve barely made eye contact, and the few times they have Ed has cowered under Oswald’s gaze. It’s, admittedly, more than a tad worrisome.

“Where have you been bringing him?” Oswald demands, glaring up at Zsasz as he makes himself right at home in Oswald's office by helping himself to Oswald's stash of nice espresso. “I know Ed’s been using you to get around more recently, and I want to know what that entails. So, if you would be so kind and enlighten me, I’d make it worth your while.”

“All around Gotham,” he replies, knocking back his cup like a shot.

Oswald can feel a vein in his forehead pulsing. “Don’t get _cute_ with me. I am your _boss_ , and when I ask a question I expect a straight answer.” He wants to threaten him _so badly_ , but his only substantial threat is to send him back to Arkham, and Oswald will _never_ suggest that to his own employees. “You have kept him away from home for hours, several days a week, and I demand to know why.”

“Well,” Zsasz sits back, holding out a hand and ticking off locations on each finger, “grocery store, the bank, physical therapy, groceries again - he’s buying a lot of ingredients for something - the apartment-”

“The apartment?” Oswald scoffs. He can’t imagine why Ed would feel the need to _hide_ from him.

Zsasz continues, unconcerned, “the library, pharmacy, and I don’t think I can say the last one.”

“What?” Oswald’s fist clenches around a paperweight. Breathe in. Count to ten. Breathe out. Slowly, he unclenches his hand. “Explain yourself. I suggest you be quick about it.”

“Well you’re always telling me to keep my mouth shut when we get you a new brace so I extended the favor.”

Oswald looks down at his leg, then back up to Zsasz. “He got a brace?”

“Two,” Zsasz says, holding up two fingers. “Ankle and knee.”

He never mentioned needing to get a brace, at least not to Oswald. “Well you can’t see either of them if he’s already been wearing them.” Zsasz gives him a knowing look. “What.”

“Nothing, just told you the same thing a hundred times, boss.”

Oswald sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers over his knee. His brace is _different_ . It’s bulky and cumbersome, stretching a good six inches above and below his knee, and he doesn’t _care_ how much Ed insists no one can see it because Oswald is certain people _can_ , and-

Alright, _maybe_ he understands Ed’s secrecy.

“Fine. Then what is he doing at the apartment?”

“I think that one _is_ a secret.”

Or more specifically, a secret from Oswald. “I see. Well, if he doesn’t have any plans for you this afternoon could you let him know to come see me at his earliest convenience? No rush. I’ll need a little time to collect my thoughts.”

-

By the time Ed shuffles into Oswald’s office, left hand firmly wrapped around his cane and an uneasy, nervous expression on his face, Oswald has managed to come to a conclusion; Ed is somehow back to being a spineless wallflower, and it infuriates Oswald to no end. It’s not Ed’s fault, never Ed’s fault (it’s somewhat Ed’s fault by virtue of being the vehicle of Oswald’s frustrations but if Oswald is right he can’t actually help himself right now). If Strange managed to do something to Ed to cause this Oswald is going to make him regret every moment he had Ed at his facility. He already has a notebook and a brand new pen ready for those late nights when all he can do is scheme while Ed struggles to sleep beside him.

More important than revenge (shocking), Oswald wants Ed back to himself, or as much of himself that’s still able to come back. It feels like they left some fundamental part of him in that old storage room.

“You look nice today,” he tells Ed, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room, and because Ed looks very good in his corded green cardigan, but Ed isn’t carrying himself like he normally would, i.e. like he knows he’s hot shit.

When Ed hears the complement his shoulders rise just a little bit. He sighs, relieved, and smiles, “so do you.” Oswald wasn’t exactly fishing for a compliment, but it’s welcome all the same. “You wanted to speak with me about something?”

After a second of consideration he decides to be blunt. Oswald nods, “have I given you the impression that I no longer want to have sex with you?”

Ed sucks in a breath, “Oswald-”

“Because that is most certainly _not_ true.”

Ed is quiet for a moment. He fidgets with his cane handle and fusses over the buttons at the bottom of his sweater; he’s also avoiding meeting Oswald’s eyes, preferring to look somewhere about five feet in front of him on the floor. When he speaks it’s barely a whisper, “I’m not the same person I was before…” he gestures to his leg. “I’ve changed.”

“So? Everyone has. That’s how being a person works.” Oswald has a new rebar scar and plenty of rage to prove his claim. “But you already know that.”

“Things are just different, Oswald.”

“What did Strange tell you?” Oswald feels himself losing his temper, and he has to force himself to sit back.

“He didn’t-”

“Ed.” Oswald tries to direct his irritation away from Ed, so he turns his chair so he’s facing the window. “I know that man, and I know what he’s capable of. Don’t tell me he did nothing to you when he told me _himself_ that he did.” He hazards a quick glance to Ed, then turns back to him fully; he’s caving in on himself, shoulders huddling and head bowed. “ _He’s_ the real monster, Ed. Somehow he’s convinced you that, what, I’ll suddenly reject you because you need to wear a brace? Even _I’m_ not that petty.”

“No, of course not,” he says, but Oswald can hear the relief in his voice. Maybe he _is_ that petty sometimes. “There are extenuating circumstances.”

“Don’t tell me the _doctor_ told you to wait this long.” He was actually starting to like their physician, but if he’s going to make Ed miserable then he’s got to go.

“It isn’t medically related. This is,” Ed gulps, “this is my decision.”

“What?” Oswald actually stands at that, and moves so he’s in front of his desk, resting his hip against it in lieu of using his cane. “Would you like to explain yourself, Mr. Nygma? Have _I_ suddenly become unacceptable to you?”

“No, that’s not-”

“I have been as patient as I am able Ed, because I know you’re recovering. But to think you would push that away,” he scoffs, “I can’t even begin to describe what you’re doing to the two of us.” Because it’s not just _sex_ , it’s everything. The nightmares, the secrets; he’s retreating, and Oswald will _not_ just lie back and accept that Ed’s thinking clearly. “Maybe you _should_ spend a little time at the apartment, since you’ve probably started moving things there.” Oswald begins mentally preparing himself for the moment he has to watch Ed walk through the front door. “Don’t have too much fun without me there to pester you. I’d hate to think your life is just _peachy_ without me there supporting you but since you seem to think it _is_ -”

“It’s the conditioning!” He shouts, breathing heavy, face a bit red as his short burst of anger settles into remorse and embarrassment.

Oswald blinks slowly. “You told me you’re not susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. I _specifically_ remember you bragging about the fact.”

“I wasn’t, not at the time,” Ed rubs his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, where they remain. His eyes are red. “I,” he swallows, “I was subjected to the conditioning. He uses, a drug, or something, I’m unclear on the specifics, but it increases perception, sharpens the senses. He’s able to speed up the process using it, but when he attempted to activate it, I tensed my leg.”

Oswald shakes his head. “You’ve lost me.”

“I focused on the _pain_.” Ed grips his hair with his free hand. “I-” he gestures helplessly, “my leg being broken provided me with a point of focus.”

“You stood up on it.” Oswald nods to himself. “You _damaged_ yourself further.”

“I kept myself from falling under his control.” Ed sniffs, pulling his glasses back down into place, sneaking a finger over the corner of his eye before any tears can fall, but Oswald knows the signs. “Letting myself relax though, allowing myself to,” he gulps, “to let my guard down. I can’t.”

Oswald crosses his arms. “Do you think he’s going to, I don’t know, just appear in our bedroom? He’ll just creep right in while we’re in the middle of sex?”

“No, no that’s,” Ed bites his lip, “but there’s the phone, radios, a giant speaker outside our window. He’s resourceful-”

“Ed,” Oswald sighs, “you can just tell me you’re scared. Who wouldn’t be? Bruce left the God damned _country_ because of this. You should consider yourself braver than Batman for staying.”

Ed’s lip quivers, but he takes a few gasping breaths and calms himself down. Oswald was kind of hoping he’d just let himself cry; they’ve spent nearly three months swallowing their feelings about his kidnapping. “But you’re giving him a bit too much credit. He won’t come hunting us down. It’s not really a part of his MO.”

“If he can activate the conditioning, he won’t have to.” Ed stares at the floor. “In the interest of not allowing him to capture the both of us-”

“Stop.” Oswald doesn’t want to hear Ed say it out loud. “You’re not going to just hand yourself over to spare me. We already agreed we’re staying on the sidelines. Strange isn’t coming within a thousand yards of either of us.”

“I was thinking about the apartment,” he mutters. “Sleep is the most vulnerable part of the night. At the very least-”

“Ed,” Oswald stops him again, “I haven’t given up, and I see no reason for you to either, but if you’re genuinely suggesting we stop sharing a bed I’m going to have to-” strangle you is the first thing that comes to mind, but he quashes that thought immediately, “I’ll have to just tie you to the bed then.” Oh, he would actually enjoy that very much.

Ed laughs once, “that seems a bit drastic.”

Oswald shakes his head, smiling. “I don’t think you have any right telling me that.”

“Perhaps not.” Ed’s face falls again. “The physical therapist thinks I’ve gained as much function back as I am able.”

“Speaking as someone who’s spent nearly half their life with only one, having two good legs is terribly overrated.”

Ed nods, but he’s still moping, and Oswald sighs, shifting a bit so he’s not putting weight on his bad leg, and beckons Ed over, arms out in an obvious pre-hug stance. He maintains his composure for a moment, then lurches forward, stumbling, but catching himself on his cane, and carefully finishing the short walk over to Oswald so he can throw himself into the hug. His chin hits Oswald’s shoulder and his arms wrap around Oswald’s upper arms; he closes the hug and pats Ed’s back.

“I know you don’t like change,” Oswald tells Ed.

“ _Some_ change is tolerable,” he mutters, “but this is a rather _significant_ change.”

Oswald rubs Ed’s back some more, nodding along sympathetically and understandingly (and Ed had a _doctor_ to help with his leg), but also trying very hard to not focus on the fact that Ed’s leg is settled quite firmly between his, and his thigh is touching the front of Oswald’s pants. He’s nearly fifty, he’s not going to allow himself to _hump Ed’s leg_ like some sex-crazed teenager. He does, however, let his hand drift just a bit lower and settle on Ed’s lower back.

“If it will make you feel safer we can start sleeping with the guns under our pillows again.” Ed shakes his head and squeezes Oswald a bit tighter. “Or we can remove them from the premises if that would be better.”

“I already did,” Ed admits, sounding sheepish. “Most of them, at least.”

“The _apartment_?” Oswald makes Ed stand up straight. “Just what were you _doing_ there? Making a safe house?”

“Isolating any and all concerning or potentially harmful objects normally stored in this house.” _Including himself_ , Oswald thinks. “We _may_ need to send Zsasz to get a few things if we want Olga to be able to prepare dinner.”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy the drive at least.” He scowls for just a moment. “If you ever think of running off again instead of just _telling_ me you’re worried about being mind controlled or anything of the sort I _will_ send Zsasz to collect you. I do not condone any of this fussing you’re doing on my behalf. I am not some delicate damsel in need of a self-sacrificing knight. If I was, I would have actually pursued Jim Gordon, because God knows that man loves to throw himself onto a sacrificial pyre in the name of his lover’s safety.”

Ed laughs, some of the tension around his eyes smoothing to his usual crow’s feet. Oswald is thankful, although he knows this is probably a temporary uplift in Ed’s mood. “Sometimes I forget that you’re so stubborn when you want something.”

Oswald fake gasps, affronted for the sake of Ed’s entertainment, and it works, because he’s still smiling. “Just for that, you _are_ sleeping in another room.” He pulls Ed down for a kiss, then another, and when Ed actually kisses him a _third_ time he nearly swoons. “Fine, you’ve swayed me, I suppose I’ll kick you out some other night.” He pulls Ed back into a hug, takes a deep breath of Ed’s cologne, and lets his hand slip down to Ed’s hip. “I’ve missed you, as asinine as that sounds.”

“Distance isn’t always physical.” He sighs against Oswald’s temple. “Oswald, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you again.”

Oswald groans, exaggerated, “you’re not in the mood at all.”

“No, well, that’s not the issue.” He stands back and puts his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. “My physical capabilities have changed and I need to reassess what I am capable of before we try anything more taxing.”

Oh what Oswald wouldn’t _give_ to have a less scientifically minded husband. “You do know the best way to know is by _doing_ , correct?”

“You’ve waited this long already. Think of it as an exercise in increasing your patience.” Ed kisses his forehead.

This is not something he _ever_ wanted to try and better about himself, but it’s not like he’s going to try and _force_ Ed into anything. Still, since he’s going to have to wait until Ed finishes writing an entire thesis on the proper way to have sex while disabled, Oswald placates himself by giving Ed’s ass a quick, firm squeeze. “I expect results by the end of the week. If you need an _extension_ ,” he pulls Ed into one last kiss, “you’re going to have to prove it.”

-

Thursday morning Oswald finds himself half asleep on the bench in their shower, smiling to himself as Ed shaves at the sink, shirt off and, if Oswald is correct, the rest will soon follow, because Ed is going to join him momentarily. He’d suggested they both get ready for the day. Together. As in, he’s at least willing to be fully nude in front of Oswald again. The prospect is already arousing Oswald a little.

Admittedly, he was beginning to worry that Ed took him seriously about providing results and requesting an extension, but the moment Ed carefully steps into the shower, one hand on a handrail and an uncharacteristically shy expression on his face, any lingering concerns he still had dissipate, and he grins.

Ed has a new scar from the surgery on his leg, neat and thin along his calf. It’s still bright pink, but it will fade, and really what’s one more line at this point? Oswald touches an old, puckered scar on Ed’s side, feeling the rough, uneven texture contrasted with the smooth skin around it. “Did I give you this one?”

“Around the same time I gave you this,” he says, brushing a thumb over the teeny-tiny scar by Oswald’s eye. Between aging and other, more significant scars he barely remembers it’s there.

Oswald leans forward and kisses Ed’s stomach. He’s never bothered to kiss a scar, it’s overly tacky and trite; after all it’s just skin. It holds no bearing on whether or not he cares for Ed as a whole. He runs his hands over Ed’s hips and up his back, drawing him just a bit closer. Ed leans down, kisses Oswald’s forehead, and whispers, “I’m going to wash my hair.”

He’s smiling at Oswald like he didn’t just ruin his morning, like Oswald isn’t sitting in the shower, already half hard, with his husband only about a foot away, but only physically; metaphorically he might as well be in orbit if he’s going to tease Oswald like this.

Oswald doesn’t bother to try to lessen the scowl he knows is on his face as he watches Ed add shampoo to his hair and wash away any grease or oils. He can be frustrated while respecting boundaries; there’s no law that he has to enjoy this ‘look, don’t touch’ policy.

“It’s a shame you never perfected a look that can literally kill,” he teases Oswald. He leans back down, dripping water on Oswald’s face as he kisses him once, and another, his hand sliding over the rebar scar and inward. Oswald’s legs part and Ed trails his fingers over the inside of his thighs. “I had no intention to leave you high and dry.”

 _We’re in the shower_ , Oswald thinks, feeling obstinate, but Ed’s long, deft fingers begin slow, steady stroking, and he quashes the urge to contradict Ed. There are far more important matters to address.

-

He spends most of Friday and Saturday morning lying in bed, a full body ache keeping Oswald immobile and miserable, while Ed dotes on him, providing a steady supply of pain relievers, hot towels and warming pads, and gentle massages until he’s able to drift into an unsatisfactory, restless sleep.

-

Sunday, glorious hedonistic Sunday, Oswald can scarcely believe his good fortune. Ed is handsy and affectionate, alternating between his little love riddles and outright declarations, and now, distracting Oswald from his work with his hands and his mouth.

“If you think,” he sighs, “if you think our finances just magically stay in the black I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you can spare ten minutes,” Ed tells him from his place on the floor, sitting on Oswald’s foot stool with his head between Oswald’s clothed thighs. “If you’re actually worried I can stop.”

He might literally die if Ed stops now. Oswald groans and grabs Ed’s hair, lightly tugging him forward, and Ed returns his mouth to Oswald’s stomach, hands busy undoing Oswald’s pants button and zipper. He’s a _tease_ , kissing everywhere but where Oswald truly wants, hands inching down the back of his pants and underwear so Ed can grab his ass. Ed starts back at Oswald’s middle, then kisses lower, angling towards his right hip, then switching to his left, then bypassing his groin entirely to kiss his thighs as Ed pulls his pants down to his knees, inch by inch.

“You’re unbelievable,” he nearly whines, nearly.

“I’ll take that as a complement,” Ed smirks up at him.

“Don’t-” Oswald’s eyelids flutter when Ed shifts to a kneel and takes Oswald into his mouth. “Disregard that. Take it as a damn compliment if you want,” he says, voice tight.

Ed practically worships him; tongue smooth, a steady pace, hands up his shirt and on his backside, Oswald’s certain he wouldn't have lasted if he was younger. He pets Ed’s hair, humming, encouraging him, breath quickening and hips twitching. There’s a familiar, welcome warmth pooling low in his stomach, building, slow and steady, increasing as Ed quickens his pace, and then he gasps, groaning, eyes closing as he finishes.

“If this is the reason we end up poor I don’t think I’d mind all that much,” he mumbles. Ed uses Oswald’s chair to push himself upright and Oswald grabs his arms. He’s never actually had his leg give out following an orgasm, but he will not be in a state of undress should an ambulance be summoned to his aid. He pulls his clothes back up and fastens his pants, sighing contently as he looks to Ed’s groin and his obvious erection, then to his leg, which he’s favoring. Ed’s jaw is tense, and when Oswald looks again he can see he’s not putting any weight on his leg, choosing to lean against the desk. “Are you alright?”

“Cramp,” he waves Oswald off. “Just a minor setback. It’s nearly gone.”

He sits back down and motions for Ed to put his leg on the stool, and once he’s done so Oswald begins rubbing slow circles into his tense calf muscle. “This one always works well when you do it for me.”

Ed nods, sighing, face already relaxing as Oswald works. “I had some idea as to how well it works, but had not considered it was this fantastic.”

Oswald knows all too well how wonderful it feels to finally get rid of a cramp. He nearly cried when he managed to relax his leg after nearly four _hours_ of cramping. “I hope this hasn’t ruined the mood for you.”

“Ah, well,” Ed moves his leg off the stool and retrieves his cane from Oswald’s desk. “I really should let you work.”

“Nonsense,” he says and pats the edge of his desk. “Honestly, this takes so little time out of my day, and I’d hate to leave _you_ high and dry.”

Ed laughs once, but his expression falls, and he looks to the floor as he moves away from Oswald’s desk. “It’s not,” he smiles, unconvincing, “I should go. I have some things to take care of, research to do, mail to organize.”

“Ed,” Oswald says, a small warning. _Oh_ **_hell_ ** _no_ , he thinks. He’s not letting Ed do this to himself. “If you’re just denying yourself-”

“I’m starting a business,” he blurts. “It’s, I’ve been requested by Jim to help investigate, purely research and desk work, but ah, I should get back to it. I’m,” he smiles, this time genuinely, “I’m a detective, Oswald.”

“Oh.” He smiles. “Good,” Oswald says, and it _is_ good, because honestly, Ed’s been acting a bit lost without something to keep himself busy with, and this kind of thing really does suit him. “I’m sure you’re already a real pro at solving cases.”

“They’re really more like puzzles,” he says, grinning. Oswald can’t imagine how he can ignore his erection in favor of _puzzles_ , but that’s Ed for you. “Another time,” he gestures to himself, a faint pink coloring his cheeks, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

-

Oswald pretends to work at his desk the next morning because he feels personally obligated to finish his business plan but can’t actually be bothered to pick up his pen and start anything, so he’s thankful when Olga interrupts him by bringing him his morning coffee.

“Thank you.” He lifts the mug from the tray and breathes in deeply. “It smells wonderful, like always.” It’s a dark roast, with cream and sugar on the side, and- “what’s this?” he asks as he picks up a small folded card; it’s bright green with black text. “Oh hell no.”

Olga gives Oswald a look as she leaves. He can practically hear the ‘he’s _your_ husband’ judgemental comment, though she didn’t bother to say it out loud. Oswald takes the time to finish adding cream and sugar to his coffee before flipping open the card and reading the text inside. “I place full of ways to take you far away without moving an inch.”

Oswald takes a drink of coffee and lets his head hit the back of his chair. He’s heard this riddle many times, “A library,” he groans. “What are the odds he means _his_ library?”

Slim, he decides, but Oswald still goes there in a desperate hope. He doesn’t find a clue or Ed, but Zsasz is sitting in one of the plush armchairs, swinging a set of keys on his finger.

“He meant the public library, I presume.”

“Looks like it,” he says, catapulting himself out of the chair and crossing the room, “but he told me I’m all yours.”

“Lovely,” Oswald huffs. “Well, come on. If I’m going to actually _do_ this I’l like it if I still have time to get work done later.”

-

By the main door of the main branch of the library Oswald finds another folded card. He snatches it off the wall and reads, “MAU, 306.7, DDS. This makes zero sense.”

“It’s a riddle boss,” Zsasz tells him. Oswald turns to glare at him; he’s leaning against the wall, smiling at Oswald like a shithead.

Oswald shoves the riddle in his face. “You solve it then.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re for you,” he says, pushing the card away.

“And I’m pretty sure you’re here to _help_ me,” he quips, “and I will humor Ed, but only just, and it will be _your_ job to do the dirty work.”

Zsasz plucks the riddle out of Oswald’s hand and reads it, frowning, then declaring (with that same damn smile), “Dewey Decimal System.”

“Fine, wonderful.” Oswald gestured to the door. “After you.”

They enter the library when the front desk worker is away and Zsasz motions Oswald over to a station of computers out of the employee’s line of sight. The library is mostly empty, there are a few students sitting at tables, surrounded by large books and coffee cups, and they pay the two of them no mind. Zsasz does a little clicking around before pointing to a library map on the screen. He whispers, “found it.”

“We’ll see,” Oswald whispers back. He’s not yet convinced that Zsasz isn’t making all this shit up. He follows Zsasz to the elevator to the second floor and deep into the nonfiction section, past rows and rows of books before Zsasz turns down an aisle and presents a shelf to Oswald, half his mouth turned up in a smirk.

Oswald skims a few titles and flushes, coughing once, “well, find me the book.”

“I think he’s coming onto you.”

“I think you’re reaching since there’s no evidence-” he stops when Zsasz places a book in his outstretched hand; there’s a green card just barely peeking out from the pages of a book titled Sex : an oral history. “Charming,” he blurts out, then quiets, muttering to himself, “good lord he’s trying to woo me with riddles.” He opens the book to the page with the card, sees one line about erections and shuts it quickly, handing the book back to Zsasz so he can read the card. “This is just a list of numbers.”

Zsasz motions with two fingers in a ‘gimme’ fashion and Oswald hands it over. Zsasz’s mouth moves as he counts with his fingers, muttering something under his breath, and then he’s tearing down the aisle, Oswald struggling to keep up. He loses him momentarily, but sees him towering over by another set of computers.

“I recommend you slow your pace down a bit next time,” he hisses. “This is already bothersome enough without you acting out.”

“Hungry?”

“Wh-” Oswald clears his throat. “Excuse me?”

Zsasz turns the computer screen towards Oswald. “Longitude and latitude.”

Oswald looks at the string of numbers, now _two_ numbers, and at the apparent location. It’s a cafe, but not just _any_ cafe, because this one is Oswald’s favorite.

“Oh.” His expression smooths to an almost pleased one. “Yes, I am.”

-

He was hoping Ed would greet them at the cafe, but instead Oswald and Zsasz are led to a private, open space with large windows and sparse, tasteful decorations. In lieu of a menu Oswald is told his meal is already being prepared per Mr. Nashton’s specifications.

“Nashton you say,” he hums. “Well, I suppose that’s quite fine.”

The wait staff pour him a mimosa with fresh, hand squeezed orange juice. He sips at it idly, savoring a crispy, airy popover with house-made jam. Zsasz forgoes the mimosa in favor of ordering a full pot of coffee for himself, along with several plates of food.

“So I’m going to have to watch you gorge yourself again? Charming, really.” Zsasz shrugs, indifferent. “Try to keep your food on your plates.”

For all the harping Oswald does he’s never seen Zsasz _actually_ eat like a pig, and today is no different. He eats constantly, but at a reasonable pace, while drinking cup after cup of light roast coffee and reading a paper. All of this allows Oswald to enjoy what might be the most beautiful eggs Benedict he’s ever seen along with thick, butcher cut bacon and a small side of herb potatoes, all cooked to perfection and very flavorful. He only wishes it was Ed sitting across from him, although admittedly Oswald wouldn’t have gotten this far without Zsasz’s help, so his presence isn’t actually putting a damper on his mood (and neither is his third mimosa).

He’s about to start scouring the cafe for the next clue when a light, flaky pastry with what looks like a cream filling is placed in front of him. Oswald shrugs, not one to snub any sort of treat, and cuts into the pastry, only to scowl when he finds a green, laminated card (inside food safe wrapping thankfully) right in the center.

“Tell me Victor, what have I done to deserve this?” He holds the card daintily to avoid getting any cream on his person.

“Well you married him,” Zsasz says, watching Oswald set the card onto one of the various empty plates. Zsasz reads, “Eddie Nashton’s new pad has quite the visionary secret.”

Oswald finishes inspecting his pastry and after determining that there are no more inedibles inside he takes a bite. He mulls over the riddle while he chews (and revels in the wonderful raspberry flavored cream with a crisp, tart flavor) and takes the time to finish his bite, wiping his mouth with his napkin before hazarding, “the apartment.”

Zsasz smiles. “You’re getting into it now.”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “When he’s not incomprehensible with his riddles I’ll answer.” He takes a few more bites before sliding the plate over to Zsasz and standing. “I’ve eaten my fill, and we should get going.”

Zsasz picks it up with his hand and gives Oswald a thumbs up as he shoves it into his mouth whole. Oswald doesn’t try to hide his disgust.

-

There’s something fundamentally wrong about Oswald being at the apartment. First, he and Ed aren’t fighting, but second, it’s almost never Oswald that leaves. Ed has _perfected_ stomping out in a way that Oswald just _can’t_ , even though he’s always pictured his exits as artfully dramatic as Ed’s angry cane twirl, he can admit that his uneven stalking doesn’t have quite the same effect as Ed’s fluid gait.

He barely remembers what the unit used to look like, but he _does_ know it had less seating. It feels a bit presumptuous of Ed to assume he’ll need this many available chairs, but they’re at least comfortable looking rather than those horrible chairs in hospital waiting rooms. The kitchen is the same, minus any photos Oswald hopes, and the table is still there, although there’s a few neat stacks of forms and a cup of pens. Along the wall with the front door there’s a desk with a monitor and papers, and Oswald is concerned about Ed’s trust in some stranger until he sees the nameplate.

“Victor Zsasz, secretary,” he laughs. “Hitman, riddle solver, driver, _and_ a secretary? And here I thought you were a one trick pony. You better update your resume.”

Zsasz is in the kitchen ignoring Oswald, watching some coffee percolate. That’s just fine for Oswald; he needs to dedicate some time to finding the next clue. The sooner he does the sooner he can go home, or wherever Ed is actually sending him. If he wasn’t so convinced Ed is leading him on some grand adventure he would make Zsasz bring him home and wait for Ed there, preferably while lying seductively (and comfortably) in bed.

He doesn’t have to look hard. On the door leading to the apartment’s single bedroom is a small green card with a question mark. He pulls it off the door and turns it over, and an arrow points to the door.

The only reason he hesitates is because he’s not convinced Ed won’t be on the other side, possibly naked, and Zsasz is still here.

Admittedly, but only to himself, there’s a smaller, less sure part of himself that hesitates because, for lack of a better word, this is Ed’s sanctuary. He goes here to decompress and be _away_ from Oswald, just for a little while. But it’s preposterous. Ed’s put the next clue in the bedroom; he’s practically holding the door open for Oswald.

“Burning daylight boss.”

“Shush. And wait out here.” He puts his hand on the knob. “Make yourself a sandwich for all I care. I’ll only be a moment.” He takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

It’s a nice space. Oswald has a lot of pride for this set of complexes; the designer and architect were _brilliant_. He can see why Ed recommended them. ALong the wall Oswald notes two giant chalk boards, currently wiped clean, but Oswald can see some faint words and theories left behind in the chalk dust. In front of the chalkboards is Ed’s desk, a dark oak desk with several drawers. If Ed ever uses a computer is must be a laptop or Zsasz’s, because the bulk of his desk space is reserved for a few file organizers, a large calendar littered with notes, and a single framed photo; the most careless, brazen thing Ed could possibly have on display is right there on his desk.

It’s a photo in front of that hideous statue at city hall, and if they looked younger Oswald would tell himself it’s from his time as mayor, but not, he remembers that day, remembers the hastily bought rings they can’t wear and the nearly empty halls as he and Ed exchanged vows on Tuesday over the lunch hour. He hopes Ed has the forethought to put it in his desk when he’s talking with clients.

Oswald surveys the rest of the room, noting the couch Ed must sleep on, soft and comfortable looking, the attacked bathroom with a shaving kit and comb, and the walk in closet. Ed’s gutted the last one by removing the shelves in favor of shoving a narrow twin sized bed along one wall and towers of file boxes on the one across from the bed. One the far wall Ed’s left three shelves and a single bar for hanging clothing on.

Somehow none of this surprised Oswald.

He returns to Ed’s desk and sits in his chair. The photo is angled towards him at least; it’s presence is clearly meant for Ed and not his potential clients. Oswald picks it up and handles the frame carefully, laughing to himself when he sees how sloppy he’d looked that day, windswept and giddy, and thankfully no makeup running because Zsasz is a _saint_ for remembering to grab his waterproof eyeliner.

He was hoping the clue would have something to do with the photo, but Oswald doesn’t find a card behind the frame, and it isn’t until he opens a drawer that he finds a file folder with a green question mark drawn on the front. It isn’t terribly thick, but it’s larger than the rest of the clues considering the rest were one line cards. Oswald silently pleads with whoever is listening to _not_ let this be a giant riddle. He won’t be able to look Ed in the eye for days if it is.

It’s not, as it turns out. Oswald opens the folder to the first piece of paper, a copy of Ed’s medical records, with important notes highlighted in green. Things like “nerve damage” and “tearing” make Oswald’s chest hurt, but he reads all the notes anyway, wanting to understand Ed’s leg injury in a way Ed’s not quite capable of articulating. It’s not pretty, but it’s not as bad as it could be, and Oswald is thankful Ed is at least able to walk even if he does have a limp.

Next is a printout with highlighter and pen written in the margins, and a bulleted list of requirements to be a private investigator. _So he’s_ **_actually_ ** _invested in this_ , he thinks. Ed’s done the research, and behind the packet Oswald finds forms with ‘Eddie Nashton’ on all the signature lines. He sets the packet and forms aside, and an ID falls out of the stack and onto the floor. He picks it up, not wanting to lose Ed’s ID, and finds a little surprise.

The name on it is Edward “Eddie” Edwin Nashton. It’s clearly Ed, but his hair is styled differently, cut a bit shorter with reddish highlights and left lightly tousled to one side, his glasses are gone, and oh, Oswald certainly didn’t forget about Ed’s facial hair, but he’s had to forcibly make himself not dwell on it too long, because he has a habit of swooning at the sight of Ed with a couple week’s worth of beard growth, and it would be a shame to let his fiscal empire fall over a _beard_.

He sets the ID aside with the forms and picks up the next packet. And he _smiles_ , because he can forgive Ed for making him run around town, because he _finished Oswald’s business proposal_.

He’ll dig deeper into the specifics, make sure Ed didn’t embellish anything or cut some of Oswald’s design comments, but even the _thought_ that he’s freed up Oswald’s afternoon is very considerate. He sets it aside with the rest, and at the bottom of the folder he finds a single card in a sleeve.

It’s a hotel key card.

-

Zsasz is driving him towards the Gotham Royal Hotel when Oswald taps his shoulder. “Pull into that parking lot.”

“That’s not a hotel.”

“Yes, I am _aware_ ,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly I’m not _blind_.”

But he _is_ a bit concerned Ed forgot about a hotel’s lack of supplies. Ed is a practical, intelligent, _wonderful_ human being, but he’s put an awful lot of thought into this little riddle chain, and sometimes, _sometimes_ , when he gets that way he forgets more of the common sense parts of life.

And that’s why Oswald is walking into a corner pharmacy to pick up some condoms and lube. He intended to just be in and out, but for some reason Zsasz follows him inside, and Oswald just has this _feeling_ that Zsasz isn’t going to make this trip easy.

“Please refrain from causing any sort of _scene_ ,” Oswald hisses as Zsasz walks down another aisle of the small space. He smiles, straightens his waistcoat, and approaches the counter where a young woman is writing on a clipboard. “Hello. I require some prophylactics and personal lubricant.”

She gapes a little, but blinks, and nods. “Of course,” she says, cheeks a tad pink. Oswald pays her no mind. The faster he gets out of here the sooner he can get to Ed. “Alright, that will be-”

She looks over Oswald’s shoulder, which, rude. He’s the current customer and her attention should be on _him,_ but Oswald looks over and sees Zsasz standing there, staring both of them down as he slides a bag of some sort of _candy_ onto the counter.

“What. Do you think I’m going to _buy_ this?” Zsasz looks at him expectantly. “You are _two years older_ than me. Do you think you could manage to act it for once-nevermind, nevermind.” He takes a deep breath. “Fine. Go ahead and add this to my tab.”

-

Zsasz pulls up to the drop off lane at the Gotham Royal Hotel and Oswald steps out of the car, package tucked carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket and the key card in his hand. Zsasz rolls down the window after Oswald shuts the door.  “I suppose you’re going to have to find a parking space.”

“Nope. My job’s done.”

Oswald sputters. “What now?”

“Well, he’s up there, and _I’m_ not going into that hotel room with you, so you’re on your own boss.”

“You _knew_ he was here!?” Oswald seethes, sees red. “You made me run around the city, solve his damned riddles-”

“I solved them.”

“And yet you _knew_ . You knew exactly where he was the whole time.” Oswald is going to need another notebook. He cannot _believe_ the gall-

“He told me to stall you so I did.” Zsasz shrugs. “Have fun up there boss.”

Oh, he’s going to have _so much fun_ daydreaming about mangling the both of them on his ride up the elevator.

Oswald enters the lobby and approaches the desk, smiling as much as he’s able at the moment. “I’ve been given this room key, but a certain _person_ neglected to tell me what room it’s foor. If you would be so kind-” The front desk worker hands Oswald a slim green card, and he closes his eyes for a moment so he can remember to breathe. “Thank you.”

He nearly calls Zsasz for an explanation, because his alternative is to try literally every door in the hotel, which would get tiresome. However, the card isn’t a riddle, not exactly. The number for the room is written backwards, but that’s it, and Oswald is able to figure it out just by holding it up to the shining elevator doors, noting the 505 in Ed’s neat script.

Oswald spends the elevator ride to the fifth floor contemplating how to properly explain to Ed that he has in no way suddenly become fond of Ed’s penchant for riddles and scavenger hunts, and to explain to him just how tiresome this whole affair was, but as the doors open Oswald sees a trail of tiny green question marks, leading to the door closest to the elevator and up to the key slot. He swipes the card, watching the tiny light by the lock turn green, and opens the door.

Ed is there, smiling, one hand on his cane and the other holding an honest to God bouquet of flowers, and Oswald shakes his head with a smile. “You’re absolutely infuriating, I hope you know that.”

“It can’t have been that bad. You’re here, aren’t you?” Ed’s eyelids flutter a bit, his expression fading just a fraction, but he’s back to smiling, and he crosses the room, handing over the bouquet and shutting the door. Oswald closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of early spring flowers, noting the definite click of the deadbolt and Ed sliding the chain across the door. “How was your day?”

“I think you _know_ how my day was, Ed.” Still, he can’t be too annoyed. Ed did get him brunch, and the flowers, and his proposal is completed. “I suppose it wasn’t all bad.”

“Well, that’s quite the compliment.” Ed laughs. He puts his arm around Oswald’s shoulders and starts moving towards a table. “I’m sure you’ve guessed why I’ve led you here.”

Oswald can only hope it’s to make the cleaning service’s job hell, to mess up the sheets with a couple day’s worth of absolute debauchery and gratuitous use of room service. “Oh, I can imagine you have something fun planned,” he says, smiling, and Ed’s face falls. “You’re not reacting at all in the way I expected. Why is that?”

“There are,” he licks his lips, and Oswald has to resist losing himself in a fantasy while Ed’s unhappy about something. “There are certain details I’ve learned recently. Things you do not yet know.”

“Well, I’m all ears,” Oswald says as he sits in a chair, placing the bouquet in an empty vase Ed must have placed on the table. Ed pulls a chair close to Oswald’s and sits, taking one of Oswald’s hands in both of his. “You’re beginning to worry me, Ed.”

“Before,” he takes a breath to steady himself, and nods, looking Oswald in the eye and stating, “I spoke with my doctor regarding sexual activities, what he recommended we avoid.” A tiny bit of pink blooms on Ed’s cheekbones, and he looks away. “He recommended, well, simply put he told me you don’t really know until you try, but considering how trying that can be, to have to stop if I or you were to get a cramp or any other sort of injury-” Jesus he’s nearly beet red and he just. Keeps. Talking. “So I took it upon myself to recreate certain positions- alone of course- in order to assess my current ability.”

Oswald mouths ‘oh my God’ while Ed isn’t looking, and shakes his head, astonished that Ed is _telling_ him all of this. His libido is telling him that something about this is arousing, maybe just the thought that Ed is actually considering sex, but the fact is that Ed apparently _mimed sex moves_ to see if it hurt his leg.

“My conclusion is my leg is no longer strong enough to properly support my person evenly, meaning that, unfortunately, due to the mirroring of our injuries, I cannot support your left side with my right without either a cramp, aggravating my knee, or possibly twisting your leg if my right were to give out.” He looks so incredibly embarrassed but he can’t seem to stop himself. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry_?” Oswald’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He cups Ed’s cheek with his free hand, feeling the insane amount of heat coming off of his blush. “Ed, darling, don’t be absurd. This isn’t something to be sorry about.”

“But we won’t be able to have sex, not penetrative.”

“Well, not the way _you’re_ thinking.” Luckily for Ed, Oswald is practically a professional at this sort of thinking. “How well can you bend your leg?”

“I suppose it depends on my knee tendons.” He lifts up his right leg and moves it back and forth. “It’s loose for now. I haven’t stressed it recently.” He sets it back down. “But I can’t apply pressure to my lower patellar ligament-”

“Ed, please, a moment.” Oswald hadn’t stopped to consider this before, but oh, he can certainly justify thinking about it now. Ed being the one bent over, or possibly against the shower wall. But  oh, Oswald _knows_ how he wants this to go, if Ed is able. “You’re still relatively flexible right?”

“Considering my age, I suppose, but it depends on what type of stretch you mean.” Ed tilts his head back a bit, thinking. “I _can_ touch my toes.”

Oswald nearly chokes. “Well this is certainly not what I envisioned saying when I first arrived but it seems my hands are tied,” he pauses, looking at Ed and reminding himself that whatever he says next won’t come out near as embarrassing as Ed’s little speech, “because you seem to be forgetting that, while we’ve certainly gotten ourselves into a certain _rhythm_ recently, that we’re more than capable of _switching_ things up a bit.”

Oswald _knows_ Ed knows exactly what he means, because Ed needs that kind of structure, that clear cut ‘this is the way this is because x’ (x being Oswald’s leg in this case), and that means that Oswald wants Ed in his lap. It’s been quite some time since Oswald topped (technically speaking since Ed is still technically on top of him) but now that he’s been thinking about it it’s all he can really think about.

Ed’s mouth falls open. He blinks a few times, surprised, and he gulps audibly. “I didn’t bring any of the necessary supplies.”

Oswald pats his good knee and frees his hand from Ed’s so he can pull the package out of his jacket. “You can thank me for having some forethought later.”

Ed takes the pharmacy bag from Oswald hand handles it carefully. “You’re certa-”

“Yes, Ed, I’m _certain_.” Oswald pulls off his jacket and slings it over a chair beside him. He stands, and holds out a hand to Ed, who takes it gladly. “You’re always trying to complicate things. It’s just sex. We’ve done it hundreds of times.”

But he knows this is more than that. This is sex after Ed’s leg was broken. This is sex after Strange tried to take control of his mind, one of the things Ed values most in this world. This is Oswald telling him, ‘look I know you’re different now but so am I so fuck it, we might as well be different together’ and not letting a little speed bump like uncertainty get in the way of what he wants, and what he wants is Ed.

Specifically, he wants Ed undressed, and he drags him over to the bed, sitting down slowly as Ed does the same. He lets Ed take a moment to just touch his hand, running his fingers over Oswald’s smooth palm, and then up, just a little, hitching up the end of Oswald’s sleeve to smooth over his wrist pulse. Ed is focused, reverent, and he kisses Oswald’s fingers once before dragging him forward with a hand on his jaw, and kissing him, urgent and fast.

Oswald undoes the buttons of Ed’s cardigan, shoving the fabric down off his shoulders and touching Ed’s arms, feeling the muscle move as he shrugs out of his clothes.

“It’s times like this that I regret favoring layers,” Oswald mutters, not bothering to separate their mouths. He loosens Ed’s tie as Ed works his way down the buttons of Oswald’s shirt. He pulls Ed into a hug once his shirt is undone, hands roaming across his back as Ed slides his hands underneath the open flaps of Oswald’s shirt.

There’s a definite push-pull, ebb and flow when they take the time to properly enjoy sex. Ed kisses Oswald’s neck, roams his hands over his chest and sides, sliding his hands up Oswald’s back while Oswald clutches at Ed’s shirt, untucking it from his pants and moaning encouragingly. Ed holds him so tight he feels like he can’t breathe. Everything is urgent, clutching and gasping, pants being unbuttoned and unzipped in a hurry.

And then, he slows, his hands move slowly over Oswald’s arms, his leg, savoring the feel of expensive fabric over skin. He takes deep breaths against Oswald’s neck, barely ghosting his lips over Oswald’s skin. He’s incredibly tactile, and it drives Oswald mad.

He pets Ed’s hair, untidying it out of his usual style, kissing Ed back when he moves from Oswald’s neck back to his face. Ed hums, content to do this for _hours_ if Oswald had the patience. Ed sits back to slide Oswald’s shirt off his shoulders, kissing each sun damaged shoulder and trailing down to Oswald’s collar bones, then stopping, pulling Oswald tight against his chest and squeezing.

The hug lingers longer than Oswald expected, then longer still. He rubs Ed’s back, noses his cheek and whispers, “you’re not changing your mind are you?”

“No,” Ed rasps. He takes a deep breath; Oswald moving up, then down when he exhales. “There are certain,” he sits up, hands on Oswald’s shoulders, “I haven’t properly prepared.”

“Prepar-ah.” Oswald smiles. “Ed, I’ve told you before you don’t have to.”

“I would prefer,” he gestures, and kisses Oswald once before reaching for his cane and standing. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Oswald nods. “Of course.”

He lets his smile fall once Ed is in the bathroom, but he doesn’t frown either. Oswald removes his shoes and socks, then his pants, and sets some of the pillows up in the middle of the bed to prop himself up. Sometime between getting undressed and moving to the center of the bed he hears the water turn on, and Oswald rolls his eyes. Nearly twenty years later and he _still_ won’t let Oswald prepare him for this, preferring to hole up in the bathroom alone, leaving Oswald out here to imagine what Ed’s up to in there.

He knows, oh does Oswald know what Ed is doing. Ed has very long, thin fingers, and he takes such care to go slow, to work Oswald open whenever he’s the one receiving. Oswald puts his hand on his thigh, tapping his fingers, breathing in slow, even breaths as he listens to the water, straining to hear even the softest sound from Ed.

 _There_ . He can barely hear it, just a faint huff, like Ed’s breathing out his nose, faster as he works on himself, those damn _fingers_ of his stretching and moving. What Oswald wouldn’t give to watch Ed when he does this.

He touches himself, lazily, not even bothering to reach into his underwear. Oswald imagines Ed, lying on the bed beside him, fingers working, Oswald stroking his face and chest, teasing the skin of his inner thighs, letting Oswald see him like this, just shamelessly pleasuring himself in Oswald’s presence.

The water stops, and the door opens shortly thereafter. Ed emerges, clothes gone and replaced with a hotel bathrobe, hair wet and shaggy, and just a hint of pink on his cheeks. He smiles shyly, and hurries over to the bed, letting his cane hit the floor with a thunk as he crawls onto the bed and sits beside Oswald.

“Here, come here,” Oswald gestures to his lap, and pulls Ed onto his lap. “Is this alright?”

Ed nods, spreading his legs just a bit wider, and Oswald undoes the belt for the robe. He runs his hands up Ed’s thighs and then to his back, pulling Ed down and kissing him, running his fingers through Ed’s hair with one hand and sliding a hand down to his backside.

“Oswald,” Ed sighs, he lifts his head, and bites his lip, “I forgot to grab the condoms.”

Oswald groans. “Ed, _please_ tell me you’re kidding. I have been thinking about this for _months_.”

He shrugs, and Oswald taps his shoulder, grumbling exaggeratedly and moving so he’s at the edge of the bed. “Honestly, the things I do for you.”

Oswald walks over to the table and grabs the package, and when he turns back he sees Ed, really _sees_ him, lying there on the bed, with a robe that’s only _just_ covering his groin, and looking at Oswald with such a look of adoration and love that he needs to take a moment to appreciate what a crazy series of events has led to him being able to toss a condom and some lubricant at Ed’s chest with a silent, ‘you know what to do with those’ look on his face. He sits back on the bed, moving to the middle as Ed opens the lubricant, handing over the opened condom while Oswald shoves his underwear down to his thighs.

Ed pulls his underwear off then removes his robe while Oswald puts on the condom, familiarizing himself with the feeling when Ed pours some lubricant into his hand and strokes Oswald a few times, lightly, and then he straddles Oswald’s lap.

“Your glasses,” Oswald notes while his focus isn’t compromised.

“They’re not a concern,” he says, settling back into place and lining himself up. “Besides, I can see you much better with them on.”

“Oh,” Oswald moans as Ed begins penetrating himself, hands grasping Ed’s thighs as he sinks inch by inch. Once he’s fully seated he stops, taking a few slow, choppy breaths, hands braced against the headboard and legs splayed wide. He rocks once, and Oswald rubs his hands over Ed’s back. “Good?”

“Good,” he replies, barely above a whisper. He licks his lips, biting them as he moves again, groaning. “Very good.”

Ed moves in slow, languid motions, rocking his hips and lifting himself up, then down, groaning softly when Oswald strokes him. His cheek twitches, just a moment, and Oswald makes him pause, “cramp?”

“Knee,” he admits. “My brace isn’t- I didn’t expect to _need_ it today.”

“Here,” Oswald makes Ed hold still while he reaches behind himself and pulls out one of the smaller throw pillows from his pile. “Prop your leg.”

Ed places the pillow under his shin and nods, smiling, sighing with relief. He rocks again, slower, a bit more cautious, then faster, lifting himself almost all the way off, then back down with a moan.

Oswald’s hips twitch up, and he pulls Ed in for a kiss, gripping Ed’s left hip and guiding him just a bit faster. Ed sits up straighter, hands on Oswald’s shoulders, breath quickening as Oswald strokes him faster. He lifts a hand, shoving up his glasses before pulling them off entirely, and Oswald pretends to not notice the way his eyes are shining; Ed thinks he’s perfected hiding his tears behind removing his glasses, and Oswald lets him. Still, he rubs his back more firmly, humming appreciatively as Ed rocks his hips faster.

He’s long since outgrown attempting to hold off, and Oswald accepts the warmth, the building pressure until he’s gasping, groaning contently as Ed continues to rock, taking a moment to close his eyes and savor the bliss of getting to have sex with Ed again.

Ed smiles at him, breathing fast, eyes fluttering shut as Oswald quickens his pace. Ed’s lip twitches, mouth hanging open as he gets closer, and closer, and he finishes with a quiet cry, sniffling as he ejaculates. He wipes his eyes with the palm of his hand, pressing against his forehead, and he moves carefully, easing himself off Oswald’s lab and settling so he’s lying against his side.

“I love you,” he tells Oswald. He kisses Oswald’s cheek.

Oswald kisses Ed’s forehead. “I love you too.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Oswald cherishes it, taking a moment to note just how relaxed Ed is, boneless, satisfied, and _safe_. He’s not quite himself, but he’s not a wibbling mess either, no more than usual at least.

“You’re beautiful,” Ed tells him, and Oswald snorts.

“Well, you’re biased,” he tells him, and Ed fakes offense.

“That is a _serious_ accusation. Why, I could get laughed out of the scientific community if that kind of rumor got out.”

“Well, then I suppose you better convince me to keep it a secret.” Oswald sits up long enough to knock over his pillow pile so they can lie down properly. “I think getting a wet wash cloth would be sufficient.”

“Later,” Ed tells him, and he curls up on top of Oswald’s chest, arm securely wrapped around him and his face hidden in Oswald’s neck. “This is nice, for now at least.”

 _Yes_ , Oswald thinks, _it is_. And he begins runs his hand up Ed’s spine and into his hair. “I suppose it can wait.”


End file.
